Moments
by laurajane81
Summary: One-shots inspired by random songs from my iPod on shuffle. Puckleberry.
1. Atomic

_Disclaimer: Everything belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox, not me!_

_Author's Note – I put my iPod on shuffle and wrote drabbles inspired by the songs. They will be of varying lengths and I can't update that often, but reviews are appreciated! _

_Atomic, Blondie_

Kissing her was like an atomic bomb was going off inside his head. He had never felt like this just kissing any other girl, ever – she was his perfect match, their tongues meshing together effortlessly, her moans guttural and goddamn sexy. She kissed like she did everything else – fucking perfectly.

He ran his hands through her hair (God, it was beautiful), and it clung to his fingers silkily, the strands tangling around his knuckles. The kiss was passionate, and she was equal to him, pushing against his mouth forcefully and giving as good as she was getting. Her hands were clutching his upper arms, the nails digging into his muscle, but he didn't even care – any touch from her was heaven, even if it was pain.

His hands were all over her, he didn't know where to put them. They settled on her waist – it was so fucking tiny that he could almost completely encircle her torso with his hands. He broke away from her, panting, and simply looked at her.

Her hair was wavy and tousled, how he liked it best – he brushed it off her forehead with his fingers. Her eyes were huge, hooded, searching his face – they were hypnotising to him, whenever he looked at them he swore he could read her _soul_. Her lips were swollen and lipstick was smeared across her cheek but goddamn, she had never looked more beautiful to him. He pulled her back to him, whispering against her neck and lips, I love you, I love you, I love you.

She whispers it back and the atomic bomb ricocheted around his head manically.


	2. Make You Feel My Love

_Disclaimer: Nothing belongs to me; it belongs to Ryan Murphy and Fox. I also don't own the song._

_Author's Note: I know I said this would be Puckleberry, and this one is, sort of, but sometimes I might deflect from that a bit. This one is more family. Rating for language._

_Author's Note 2: I should probably make it clear that in the world of this drabble, Rachel is Beth's mother – or, the mother she knows. She is still biologically Quinn's, but in my world, Noah kept Beth and Rachel helped him out a lot, and eventually became a mother to Beth. Although Quinn still sees her occasionally. Just to clear that up. _

_Warning – a sensitive issue is handled in this one-shot. I don't want to ruin it, but please, I have warned you so read at your own risk._

_Make You Feel My Love, Adele_

Something was up with his little girl.

She'd been home from college for two days and _something was up_. He knew he was the only one who had noticed – Isaac was too busy pretending he wasn't pleased Beth was home and Nava was hyper, like, all the time. And Rachel was just over-the-moon that she was home and safe and was trying to feed her up before she returned to Harvard in the fall (hell yeah, his daughter was a freaking genius). Though, at the rate Rachel was cooking at, Puck thought Beth might look like a whale by the time she returned.

But yeah, something was definitely up with her. That night, on the second night she was home (he still couldn't believe his daughter was home for the _full freaking summer_), Puck sat opposite her at the dinner table and studied her.

She was stunning, as always. Tall, willowy, tanned. Wavy, light brown hair falling all the way to her waist, and those piercing light green eyes with eyelashes that brushed her cheekbones every time she glanced down at her plate. But there was something off … her eyes weren't bright like usual. Her smile didn't stretch across her face and show all her teeth.

Rachel was talking a mile a minute, while somehow managing to eat, asking questions about her course, and Elodie (her roommate). They were dining early (it was about five) because Rachel had a show that night and Puck was taking all the kids to see her. While he ate, Puck watched Beth pushing her food around her plate, smiling thinly, answering Rachel's questions and trying her utmost to look like nothing was wrong.

It wasn't working. Not on him, anyways.

Later, the table was clear and the Rachel was getting Isaac and Nava ready to go. He should be up there helping, but whatever. They could deal without him for a few minutes.

He stood in the living room door, leaning against the frame. Beth was sitting at the piano, head down, the keys softly playing beneath her fingers. She looked almost ethereal, wearing one of Rachel's old white floaty dresses and her hair curling at the ends.

He sat down next to her on the piano stool, nudging her along. She stopped playing, her fingers lying on the keys.

"I suppose you're gonna ask me what's the matter," she said blankly, staring at her hands.

Puck was silent for a minute. He didn't want to make it worse, and he had a habit of doing that. Eventually, he spoke.

"Is it Geoffrey?" he asked, trying to keep his voice even. If it was, he'd kick that kid's ass to freaking Timbuktu.

Beth glanced up at him quickly. "No. Yes … sorta."

Puck was still silent, though inside he was fuming. How dare that bastard mess with his baby girl? Didn't he realise she was, like, way out of his league? Geoffrey was this dude that Beth had started dating, like, a month after she started at Harvard. He had visited briefly when Beth had come home for Hanukkah and Puck had hated the dude – in his opinion, he was a rich, stuck-up douche who thought he was God's gift. A bit like him when he was young, but, you know, less likeable. They had split up about a month and a half ago, much to Puck's relief. He knew it was awful, but he also knew that Beth could find someone way better.

With a start, Puck realised Beth was crying. He put an arm around her and pulled her to him. He wasn't gonna lie, he was shocked – Beth never cried, she was a freaking badass, like her daddy.

"You … you remember how me and Geoffrey broke up?" she said quietly, sniffling.

"Yeah."

"Well … it was about three weeks after. I was …" she was crying more now, goddammit. He hugged her tighter, and she cried into his chest for a few minutes.

"… I was … I was having pains in my stomach all day. I thought it was indigestion or something, I never thought … and then …"

More sobs.

" … and then … and then I was back in my room and I was doing homework and – and – and suddenly I was in _agony_ and there was blood everywhere and – and I didn't know what has happening at first -"

God no. Puck sat in stunned silence, rocking his daughter back and forth, while she sobbed uncontrollably into his chest.

"So then Elodie took me to the hospital and – and –th-they said I'd miscarried, a _baby_, and I didn't even know I was pregnant, I swear I didn't know! And I'm frightened in case – in case it was all my fault because I didn't know a-a-and I didn't relax -"

Puck forced his own tears away. His little girl had been pregnant? On her own, at college, without him and Rachel there to look after her? He felt numb, like he couldn't breathe. He could only remember feeling like this once when his ma rang him and told him his dad, who he hadn't seen in twenty years, had died. It was a strange feeling; there was nothing to miss, but there was an overwhelming feeling of loss and helplessness.

He pulled Beth impossibly tighter against his chest as a tear ran down his cheek. He could here Rachel vaguely upstairs, getting their younger two dressed and brushed and washed. They seemed a whole world away.

"Daddy, I'm so – so sorry, I didn't realise, and I know your probably disappointed and angry and – I did wait, like you said – I just, I – I dunno how it happened -"

Puck turned Beth to face him.

"Don't apologise, okay? It'd be pretty hypocritical of me if I was angry with you, wouldn't it?" Beth smiled slightly, tears still brimming over her eyelids. "Why didn't you call? We would've come to get you and you could have come home for a while, and – who else knows? Does Geoffrey know?"

"No, no one but Elodie," whispered Beth. "And I – I was ashamed. And I didn't know what you would think, I felt like I'd let you down."

Puck stroked Beth's hair gently.

"You could never let us down, squirt. We _love _you. And, yeah, it's probably not the smartest thing, but people make mistakes. We can't be perfect all the time."

Beth nodded.

"What did … what did you think when you found out you were having me?" she asked, her tear-stained face peering at him. "I want the truth."

"At first?" Puck took a deep breath. "Well, I was angry. At myself. Scared. I was sixteen years old; I didn't know what to do with a baby. I just wanted to go to sleep and not wake up … but then, you arrived, and you were the most amazing thing. You were, like, the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, and I couldn't stop looking at you for weeks."

Beth smiled slightly, and Puck rubbed some of her tears away with his thumb. He couldn't stand to see them there. Then she spoke again.

"I … I didn't know what I felt. I was devastated. I never really thought about being a mom before but I suddenly felt empty, even though I hadn't known the baby was there," said Beth, sniffing an wiping her tears away. "But I was relieved, a bit, as well. I don't know what I would have done."

Puck wondered what his life would be like without Beth. He couldn't imagine it; he couldn't really remember life without her, without _any _of his children. It just didn't make sense for her not to be there, even if she had made her entrance at the most awkward time possible and he'd had to live off dry toast when he first came to New York in order to feed her.

"Look," he said, "my life was made better because of you. I was only sixteen but I don't know what I would have made of myself if you hadn't been born, you were a wakeup call that I had to do something with my life." He paused, watching Beth's face carefully. "But … it might not've been the same for you. You got loadsa potential, Beth, to be something really big. You know, you're at college, the best in the damn country, how would that've worked out? At least now you can get on with your life, have a career, that sorta thing. You get me?"

Beth nodded, looking wistfully past him.

"I know," she said eventually. "I'm grateful, in a strange way. It wasn't the time for me. But … sometimes … I just think, what would it've been like?"

They both sat in silence for a while, pondering how their lives could have been changed by something that hadn't really even happened in the first place.

"I think you would've made an awesome mom," said Puck after a while. Beth's eyes filled with tears again and she smiled sadly. "And you will, someday. Just not right now."

Puck sat and looked at his daughter sadly. He wished she was little again, so that he could tell her what to believe and she'd take his word trustingly. He didn't want her to have to make decisions and face adult stuff, she was his baby and always would be.

"You gonna tell mom?" Beth asked, glancing at him. Puck was quiet; he had never had a secret from Rachel before, except that one time he took her to San Francisco for her birthday and she didn't know where they were going until they were on the plane.

"S'up to you, I guess."

Beth took a deep breath and nodded.

"I'm going to. Tomorrow. Will you help me?" Her voice was wavering and he hugged her again. "Can we do it together?"

Puck closed his eyes and took a deep breath. His little girl was all grown up, but he would always, _always_ be there for her, to help her, or make her feel better, or anything. He would do anything for her.

"Together."

_When the rain is blowing in your face_

_And the whole world is on your case_

_I can offer you a warm embrace_

_To make you feel my love._


	3. I'll Be There For You

_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee, Fox does, and I also don't own the song that inspired this, The Rembrandts do._

I'll Be There For You by The Rembrandts.

"Berry, hurry the fuck up already! I'm _starving._"

"I'll be two minutes, Santana!"

Yeah, whatever. Santana had been sitting in the living room of Berry's apartment for, like, an hour. Seriously. They were going for lunch at this little café place a few blocks down, what the hell was taking so long? You'd think she was hosting a dinner for the Queen of England the amount of time she spent getting dressed.

Santana huffed loudly, tapping her boot-clad foot against the glass coffee table.

"San, knock it off," Puck snapped from the other end of the couch. His eyes were glued to the flat screen mounted on the wall opposite where pixelated figures were keeling over and he was ramming buttons violently on some handset. Santana stretched out her foot and rammed it into his thigh.

"Fuck off, Satan!" The bloody battleground disappeared from the screen and Santana smirked in satisfaction as Puck turned and glared at her. "I've been doing that level _all morning_."

"Does Berry know that? I thought she mentioned something about a _very important phone-call _you had to make to the realtor while she was at rehearsal this morning …?"

Puck looked at her wearily.

"How much?"

"Twenty," said Santana with an evil smirk.

"What? Bitch, no! Ten."

"Twenty bucks Puckerman, or I tell Dorothy in there that you sat on your ass murdering people all morning instead of calling the realtor." Santana held out her hand expectantly. "You know she'll flip …"

Puck swore angrily and dug a wrinkled twenty out his back pocket and threw it at her. Damn, she was good at this.

"So," she said loudly, stretching, "you any closer to popping the question?"

Puck whipped his head around and glowered. "Dude, shut the fuck up! _She's right in there_, she'll hear you!"

"Puckerman, if you don't do it soon, _I'm _gonna fucking propose to her!" Santana snapped. "You told me you were gonna do this like four _months_ ago! And God knows, I wouldn't say no to _that _body wrapped around –"

"Fuck off Satan! We've been through this! Get your own fuck buddy! You can't have Rachel!"

"Excuse me, I have plenty! But back to the situation at hand - _what's stopping you_?"

Puck leant back on the couch and ran a calloused hand over the centre of his head, an old habit that didn't die with his Mohawk. "I – I dunno –"

"You've had the ring, like, six months," said Santana, taking on a softer tone. "It's got _Rachel_ written all over it."

Puck had that look on his face, the one that said he was _this close_ to throwing her out into the hallway. "Yeah, I know, alright? I'll do it when –"

"When what?" Santana interrupted. "When you took her to that fancy-ass restaurant last Friday? When you took her to Paris for her birthday last month? You're missing out on all the perfect opportunities, Puck!"

"There were loadsa people around, 'kay? Like, they would've stared, and stuff," said Puck, looking terrified at the very thought.

Santana hoisted her legs up beneath her and shuffled towards him. "Is that what you're worried about? That Rachel wants a big, grand gesture and you're too nervous to pull it off?"

Puck nodded infinitesimally. In all the years Santana had known Puck, she could count on one hand the number of times he opened up to her like this. That was Rachel's job – she was just there to look hot and take his crap when he and Rachel fought.

Still, she wasn't, like, totally heartless – she knew when he needed someone to talk to who wasn't Rachel, and this was one of those times.

"Look, Puck, so yeah, Rachel's this big, loud personality. And every aspect of her life is the same. She dresses like one of the munchkins of Munchkin Land, she performs in a theatre every day, and, fuck, have you seen your apartment?" Santana tells him, plucking a bright blue cushion embellished with yellow buttons off the couch and holding it up. "So, yeah, you'd think she'd want a proposal to match."

Puck only glared at her dryly. "You're _really_ making me feel better here, San."

"Listen to me. Every aspect of her life is outlandish and theatrical… apart from _you_. You're like, the complete opposite. You're laid-back and simple. And she loves you more than anything."

"So, what I just … propose all laid-back and simple?"

"If you want," said Santana. "All I'm saying is that she'll take anything just 'cause it's _you_. If you take her to the Eiffel Tower and propose there in front of everyone, then, she'll love it. But if you make her a nice dinner and propose to her right here in this living room … she's gonna love that, too."

Santana watched as Puck took in this information. For someone willing to commit to Rachel Berry's crazy for the rest of his life, he wasn't very smart.

He turned back to the screen abruptly, nudging her affectionately with his elbow. "I knew you were my boy for a reason," he said, starting up his level again.

"Yeah, that and the fact that I'm hotter than Finn ever could be!"

They laughed loudly and the moment was gone. Rachel chose that moment to swan in breezily, wearing a bizarre, purple, knee-length cape/coat creation with turquoise (yes, _turquoise_) boots.

Santana stared at her despairingly. "Are you kidding me, Berry? This isn't Halloween."

"I take offense at that statement, Santana, I'll have you know that this is Mark Jacob's latest collection and Kurt sent it over last week –"

"Right, whatever, I look normal enough for the two of us anyways," interrupted Santana, pushing herself off the couch and practically sprinting to the front door. "See you later Puckerman."

"See ya Satan."

A half hour later, when she and Rachel were sipping lattes and Santana was listening to Rachel yap on about how perfect her weekend in Paris with Puck was, Santana's phone beeped.

_Puck: Thnks for the advice Satan. Btw, u tell anyone bout my lapse in badassness and I'll CUT U._

__Thanks for reading, remember to leave a review!


	4. Maybe We're Not Meant To Be

_Disclaimer: I don't own _Glee_ and nor do I own the song that inspired this, _Maybe We're Not Meant To Be_ by Papa Roach. This is sort of AU because I started writing this before 'On My Way'. _

Maybe We're Not Meant To Be

You stifle a snort as Finn splashes his face with cold water for the hundredth time or something. He's been completely freaking out over getting married all morning and now, with almost an hour to go, he's practically having a breakdown.

"Seriously, dude. Calm the fuck down already! It's just Rachel, there's nothing to be nervous about," you say scathingly, throwing the already soaking towel at Finn before getting up and walking towards him. Finn stops rubbing his face raw and looks at him like he's growing a second head.

"What, so you wouldn't be nervous if _you_ were marrying Rachel? Puck, it's _Rachel_!"

"Exactly," you answer without thinking, and Finn quirks an eyebrow at you. "I mean, hell no, not if I was in love with her, and, like, knew everything about her. You know, like you." Finn's face stays fixed in its almost-permanent look of complete confusion. "What's there to be scared about, dude?"

"Like – everything!" You immediately regret asking. "This is _marriage_, like, for real! She's gonna want babies, and we're gonna have to live on our own, and, hell, she won't even let me pee when she's there … and seriously, dude, I keep forgetting she's vegan!"

You blink at Finn for several moments before sitting him down on the chair in the corner and forcing his head between his knees roughly. What? You're not an expert, and anyways, you're pretty sure he's gonna vomit soon.

"Finn." You say firmly. "Rachel won't want babies, like, now. It'll be in her ten year plan somewhere after 'Win a Tony'."

"Oh my God, oh my God … I'm gonna have to walk down a red carpet someday … what if I trip?"

You decide that you're not helping and go to find Burt, who you find having a go at Kurt for not being more supportive, who's having a go at Burt for being _too_ supportive. After sending a frazzled Burt to deal with Finn, you glance at your watch and realise that there's only three quarters of an hour till the wedding. You feel in your inside pocket for the small velvet box and sigh in relief that it's still there (you were worried it might have fallen out when Finn half-collapsed on you about half an hour ago).

You head off down to the other side of the building looking for where Rachel might be. This is the first wedding you've ever been to, so you have no idea where the bride might be, but you know she's gotta be here somewhere 'cause, you know, it's her _wedding_.

You're just wondering whether this is the fourth or the fifth time you've been down this hall when you see Mercedes leave a room at the end of the hall and walk in the other direction. Not having much time to waste, you jog to the room and knock twice, entering when you hear Rachel's overly-polite voice: "Enter."

She's standing at the window looking out, and she's wearing a white dress. But when she turns around, you feel like you stop breathing for a moment – she looks gorgeous. Her hair's all natural and flowing round her shoulders, and her dress is long and strapless and simple.

"Hello, Noah," she says, breaking your train of thought, and you grin at her.

"You look beautiful, Rach," you say, and she smiles a small smile, not the beaming, face-splitting one you expected. She walks to the dresser and scoops up her hair, twisting it.

"What ya doin'?"

She looks at you weirdly through the mirror. "I'm doing my hair."

"Don't," you say. She frowns, pausing. "It looks better loose. Makes you look like a princess."

She chuckles lightly and lets it go, curling around her shoulders. It's not weird 'cause you've always been able to say stuff to Rachel that would make you feel like a pussy if you said it to anyone else. She looks down and fingers the tidy bunch of white roses on the dresser. Her face is hidden, but her shoulders are tense.

"S'up?" you ask, because she's being all weird, and you're a bit worried.

"I – I …" she stumbles, and you realise with a jolt that she's crying. You hate crying girls 'cause you don't know what to say, and seeing _Rachel_ cry is, like, awful, 'cause you've always had a soft spot for her.

"Oh, fuck," you whisper, running your hand through your Mohawk. "Don't … don't cry, Rach."

"I'm not," she lies, sniffling.

"Look, it's … it's natural to be a little nervous. Finn's, like, half passing out."

Rachel's head snaps up and she glares at him through the mirror as if it's his fucking fault or something. "_What?"_

"Hey, don't shoot the messenger, God," you say. She glares harder. "I – I was just joking, okay? He's fine."

He's not, of course, and you both know it. And by the looks of things, Rachel isn't either. Though she looks beautiful, she looks completely out of her element in her wedding dress; like she's dressed up for a role. Cinderella, or something. And you're pretty sure that a bride isn't supposed to have that look of complete loss on her face a half hour before she walks down the aisle.

"You do want to marry Finn, don't ya?" you ask her bluntly. What? You never pretended to be tactful.

"Of course I do, Noah! What are you doing here anyway, asking stupid questions?"

"Stop changing the subject, Rachel!" you tell her, and her bottom lip quivers. At this point, you think that _anything _could push her over the edge. In about ten seconds, you could have a sobbing girl slobbering all over you, and you know you should be more sensitive. But screw that – you're now wondering why the hell Rachel is marrying Finn when she's clearly not happy about it. "Like … what are you marrying Finn for? You don't even match!"

"Finn and I are not a pair of shoes and a handbag, Noah. We don't have to _match_."

"Yeah, but … why are you so scared then? Why do you look like you're on death row or somethin'?" Rachel looks at him blankly. You've never seen her like this; whatever emotion she's feeling, she's always fierce, loud, dramatic. You don't like this new shell. "Do you love him?"

"Yes!"

"_Do _you?" she's still staring that weird stare. "Do want to spend the rest of your life with him? Do you, like, wanna wake up next to him every day and just look at him for hours? Do you feel like there would be no point to life without him? Do you love him _because _he's an idiot, dopey, a bit dim – or in spite of it? Would you do anything for him – like, die for him?" you stop for a moment. Rachel's looking at you like she's never seen you before. "Are you prepared to give up all your dreams for him?" you add, because you know that, for Rachel, that's like dying.

She's sitting there in silence, staring, blinking away tears. You can see that's she's trying really hard to keep them in, but they overflow and stream down her cheeks. You walk over to her, where she's sitting on the little dresser stool, and kneel in front of her; she dabs at her cheeks with the inside of her wrist, and you know she's trying not to disturb her makeup 'cause your ma does it all the time.

"'Cause that's what real love is, Rach," you tell her, and she stares right into your face. Her eyes look lighter than usual 'cause of her tears. "I mean, I don't have experience with, like, _romantic_ love or anything, but I know what I feel for Beth, and it's all o' what I just said. I'm pretty sure, that … if you're gonna marry someone, you should be feelin' somethin' similar."

You stay like that for a while; she on her stool crying quietly, and you squatted down in front of her. You feel sort of like crap right now; you didn't come here to upset her, you came here to regain your sanity after spending half a day with Finn and to wish her luck for her wedding. You didn't plan on saying any of that stuff, and now you're wondering if there's gonna be anyone actually able to walk down the aisle without fainting.

Rachel sniffles and twists around on her chair, sighing heavy-heartedly when she sees her wet reflection in the mirror. "I never was a pretty crier," she chuckles humourlessly, dabbing at her eyes with a tissue.

"Nah," you say, smiling softly at her, "you still look beautiful."

She catches your eye in the mirror and you stare at each other for a moment, before she gets up and walks towards you. You hold out your arms and she melts into your embrace, her damp cheek resting on your shoulder, and you rest your head on hers, breathing in the faint scent of vanilla. It doesn't feel awkward, so you stand there like that for a while, swaying slightly.

The door opens behind you and Quinn enters, frowning slightly when she sees the two of you. You let Rachel go and she smiles at Quinn brightly, falsely.

"You okay Rachel?" she asks warily, taking in Rachel's red eyes and your wet shoulder.

"Yes! Yes, of course," says Rachel, brushing her hands down the front of her dress as if to remove invisible creases. "Quinn, could you just – could you go and check on Mercedes please? She left a while ago to get the veil from the honeymoon suite. Tell her that it – it doesn't matter anymore."

Quinn looks at Rachel a second longer before nodding and leaving. Rachel looks back at you again and smiles thinly.

"I guess I – I have to go and speak with Finn."

You feel bad for a second, because you know that Rachel and Finn aren't getting married today. But the feeling disappears slightly when you think of what Rachel might have become if she went through with this; a housewife, maybe, or teaching kids how to sing and act. Not that there's anything wrong with that, but you know that it could never make Rachel happy. And for some reason, it's really important to you that she's happy.

"Guess you do," you reply, and you reach forward and hook her hair behind her ear gently. You're about to let your hand drop when she catches it and holds it tightly for a second; she laces your fingers together and strokes her thumb over the back of your hand, leaving a scorching hot trail.

"Thank you, Noah," she says quietly, before brushing past you and leaving the room.

You stand, staring at her forgotten white roses, your stomach squirming. You're not sure if it's because you just effectively hijacked your best friend's wedding or the sweet scent of vanilla you can still sense in the air around you.

_Thank you for reading, please read and review!_


	5. She's Always A Woman

_Disclaimer: I do not own Glee and I do not own 'She's Always A Woman', Billy Joel does._

_A/N: I highly recommend you listen to the song while reading this, because I think it fits really well. I think it's one of the most beautiful songs ever written, and I interpret it as a man loving a woman because of her flaws and not in spite of them. I was so pleased when this came up on shuffle because I had this idea all along but I didn't want to cheat! I hope you enjoy it, please review._

She's Always A Woman

"This is absolutely ridiculous, Noah! I ask you to do one thing, _one little thing_, and what do you do? The complete opposite!"

Okay, _that_ was a lie. She had asked him to go to the bakers and get her bagels with poppy seeds, and he had gotten sesame seeds – that wasn't the opposite, it was just … different. Puck opened his mouth to point this out, and tell her that she was currently _overreacting_; this word however, was possibly Rachel's least favourite, especially right now. He had stopped using it around two months ago when he had experienced the extent of Rachel's wrath when he accused her of it.

Pregnant Rachel was Rachel, only exaggerated about a hundred million times.

He stared at her with his mouth slightly open, her enormous belly (though she was only six months along – Puck was sure there was a monster growing in there) backing him into the corner of the kitchen. She was waving the bagels at him angrily so that sesame seeds sprinkled to the floor, she was highly flushed and her nostrils flared menacingly.

"I – I – babe –"

"Don't _babe _me, Noah, you are completely incompetent and I can't believe you misread the list I gave you – I clearly wrote _sesame seeds_ in _capital letters_! In _black ink_! I – I – where is the list? I'll show it to you and prove it!"

She stared at him even harder, breathing heavily, as if he had been heartily denying that he had been given such a list. He was ashamed to say that said list was on the coffee table in the sitting room where she had left it before meeting her agent for lunch this morning …

"Um … look, ba - Rachel, I'll go back to the bakers and get you some more bagels, okay -" he tried, reaching out and stroking her shoulders comfortingly.

She shrugged him off almost violently, slipping on the dropped sesame seeds. His heart jumping into his throat, he caught her quickly and she pushed him away again, scowling.

"I am not an invalid you know! I can take care of myself!" God, was he sick of hearing those words. "For goodness sake, Noah, just because I am an expecting woman does not mean that you have to thrust your masculinity and strength in my face all the time! It is rude and, quite frankly, _sexist_! I won't have it any longer, so you had better sort it out! And clean up this damn mess!"

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily as she stormed through their apartment and slammed their bedroom door. He had absolutely _no idea _what she was going on about half the time – he was _so _not sexist! Rachel was a working, independent woman and he was proud of her for that; he would never take it away from her. He retrieved a brush from the cupboard and swept up the sesame seeds, scowling; just the other day she had accused him of being pleased that she wasn't able to work because of her pregnancy and that he was going to manipulate her into being a housewife once the baby was born.

He had had _no idea_ that Rachel would react to being pregnant this … extremely. No idea. At first, he had tried yelling back at her, because, let's face it, none of what she accused him of was true and he was not one to sit idly by and take loads of shit. But that didn't work out – he stared regretfully at the dent in the kitchen wall where she had thrown the plate his mother had given them for their first wedding anniversary. Not at him, thankfully. But still, things had turned a bit too violent for his taste.

All she needed was a lie down. He was used to her by now: she would reappear in twenty minutes or so (without any apology, by the way), and get on with making dinner or whatever she had been doing before her outburst.

But … he couldn't even be angry at her for it. Not properly angry anyway. Yeah, he needed a few minutes to slowly count to ten and take a few deep breaths, but he didn't think anything she ever did could make him completely lose it. Even when she was yelling obscenities at him, he couldn't help but marvel at her passion, how her hand never left her swollen stomach even when the other was gesticulating wildly, how her eyes flashed and her skin glowed. Physically, pregnancy suited her; she was beautiful, carrying her bump gracefully despite her small stature, and her skin was practically luminous.

He loved her more than ever because she was carrying his child – a child they were going to love and raise together. He loved her just because she was _her_; no amount of screaming and accusing and scowling could change that.

Puck slouched on the couch to wait out Rachel's sulk. It didn't normally take long – as he said, in about twenty or so minutes, she would reappear and they would make a start on dinner, no references to her mood exchanged. He flicked through the channels with the television on low volume, settling on a re-run of _Friends_.

Soon, though, he was distracted by the sound of sobbing. Leaping up, Puck almost ran to the bedroom, before stopping and taking a gentler approach, not wanting to rile Rachel up too much. Opening the door gently, he entered the room to find Rachel curled up in the middle of their king-size bed, sobbing loudly into the covers.

Walking over to her, he scooped her up easily – even pregnant, he could still lift her as if she were little more than a feather. He pushed back the covers and climbed in with her, both of them fully clothed, his arms pulling her flush against his body. She sniffled against his chest, breathing deeply.

Time passed, and hour, maybe two – Puck wasn't sure. He just lay there and held her, stroking her waist with his thumb and breathing in the clean, almost clinical scent of her hair. Even though she was the one encased, protected by his arms, he never felt safer than when he was this close to her, when he wasn't sure which legs were hers and which were his. Eventually, Rachel spoke in a husky, choked voice.

"Why do you love me? Why haven't you left me yet?" she whispered brokenly, and he felt hot tears on his neck.

"Why would you even say that, Rach?" he asked her, upset that she could ever question _that_.

"I'm … I'm an awful person … I'm mean and impatient and angry and so, so selfish … I wouldn't love me, I can't believe you want to spend your whole entire life putting up with me …"

Puck wasn't one for crying – like, ever – but he felt like he almost could right then. He shuffled down the bed a little so that they were facing each other, and stroked her damp cheek softly, staring into those bright eyes that were, right now, swollen and lost.

"Rachel … I could never stop loving you. Like, _ever_." More tears ran down her cheeks in rivulets, soaking the sheets. "Look Rachel … I don't _put up_ with you. When have you ever known me put up with anything if I don't want to? And – I don't love you because you're nice, or patient, or what-the-fuck-ever. I love you because you're _Rachel – _I love you _because_ you're you. If you weren't selfish and impatient and demanding you wouldn't be Rachel and you wouldn't be the same."

Puck wasn't sure what to say next. He didn't talk about his feelings much – he loved Rachel more than anything on the entire planet and he would do anything for her, and he knew that she knew it, but he didn't talk in depth about it or anything. But she was still staring at him, and those eyes were still broken.

"I – I love you more than anything in the world. More than – more than I love everything else _put together_ and then multiplied by a trillion. I couldn't live without you – I feel like I would _die _if you weren't here. And just 'cause you're a bit selfish and get angry sometimes doesn't mean I'm gonna _leave _you. You're pregnant, it's natural that you're a bit … emphasised. I can deal with you-times-a-hundred for a while." Puck paused as Rachel started sobbing again and snuggled into his neck. "D'you … d'you get what I'm tryin' to say here?"

He didn't think he'd ever poured his soul out more than he did right then. And he knew Rachel knew how hard it was for him too. He would never stop marvelling the fact that he had this amazing woman and that she wanted him back – even if it had taken them until the third year of college to realise it.

"I can't believe I've got you, I … I'm so lucky," whispered Rachel, clinging to him tightly.

He couldn't help but silently disagree. Lying there, rubbing circles on Rachel's back and feeling her breath against his ear, he couldn't help but think that he was the lucky one, he wasn't the luckiest person on this entire damn planet, and he would never stop thanking the universe for her.

_She can kill with a smile; she can wound with her eyes._

_She can ruin your faith with her casual lies,_

_And she only reveals what she wants you to see._

_She hides like a child, but she's always a woman to me._

_She can lead you to love, she can take you or leave you,_

_She can ask for the truth but she'll never believe you._

_And she'll take what you give her, as long as it's free._

_Yeah, she steals like a thief but she's always a woman to me._


	6. Run

Run

_Disclaimer: I don't own Glee. I also don't own the song, Snow Patrol does, though I listened to the Leona Lewis version for inspiration with this story. Enjoy!_

"Babe, you wanna 'trash' this one?" Puck called into the en-suite, where Rachel was sorting out her toiletries.

He was standing in the middle of Rachel's room, which was, for the only time in her life, he thought, a complete and utter mess. The floor was covered with piles of everything; clothes, shoes, coats, books, board-games, and just general junk. Puck was standing amongst the chaos, in front of Rachel's bed, upon which sat three plastic boxes – "Take", "Stay" and "Trash". He was holding up in front of him yet _another_ coat (seriously, the girl had dozens): this one was a garish orange colour, and was more like a cape with long holes in the sides where, he assumed, your arms went. It was fucking _horrible_.

Rachel poked her head around the door and assessed the garment briefly, looking highly affronted.

"Of course I don't want to _trash_ it, Noah! It's one of my favourites, my dads bought it for me last Hanukah," she explained, looking at him as though he had just suggested they drown next door's cat (which, y'know, he wouldn't mind, 'cause the thing was the freakiest looking so-called cat he'd ever seen). "It matches the orange scarf and gloves set, see? Put it in the 'take' box," she continued, and Puck sighed dramatically. Whatever, he'd been doing this _all day_!

"Rach, it won't _fit _in the fuckin' 'take' box!" he exclaimed hotly. "You already got about seventy coats in there, seriously, how cold d'you think it is in New York?"

He groaned as Rachel's fuming face appeared around the side of the en-suite door again.

"_Very_ cold, actually, Noah, in winter!" she shouted at him, struggling to stand up. "And I _do not_ have seventy coats in the 'take' box, there are twelve, which is perfectly reasonable, if you ask -"

"Rachel," he seethed, "me, my ma and Sarah have less than twelve fuckin' coats _between_ us!"

"If you swear at me again, Noah Puckerman, I will take these eye-lash curlers," – she waved said curlers angrily - "and use them to extract an appendage which I don't think you'll be very excited to lose from your imbecilic body! And don't interrupt me!"

Eyeing the eye-lash curlers warily (seriously, he had no idea why anyone would put those things anywhere near their eyes), he dropped the coat petulantly on the floor. Rachel stormed, or tried to storm, through her chaotic bedroom and whipped it up again, stubbornly trying to fit it into the 'take' box. When it wouldn't fit, she impatiently removed some of the piles from the box and huffed.

"You've been putting them in wrong, Noah! That's why it won't fit!" she said. "If you roll them, like this, they don't get creased and it saves space."

Puck took a breath and counted to ten. Seriously, he was sick to death of this whole thing- they had been attempting to pack Rachel's room up for New York for three days now, and they always ended up arguing about something; the amount of stuff she was taking, how he packed it up wrong – they legit argued yesterday about whether the colour of her walls was a 'soft lemon' or the colour of piss. And they weren't even, like, halfway through. In his opinion, she was simply a spoilt brat who had way too much stuff than made sense, and in her opinion, he was an imbecilic idiot who was deliberately doing everything wrong just to annoy her.

Yeah, if only.

Truth was, he was a little (read, _a lot_) bummed about her leaving for New York in a few days. He had always known it was going to happen, and he had been mentally preparing himself for it, but when he was seeing her every day, and they were just going about their normal business – going to school, enduring temple, driving her to dance class, making out in his truck, eating dinner – it didn't seem like anything was going to change. Then, however, graduation happened, then summer happened, and now, all their days were made up of packing up Rachel's stuff, and seeing friends that they would probably never see again, and it was finally starting to hit Puck – _Rachel was leaving him soon._

Well, he was being a bit melodramatic; he was actually joining Rachel in three and a half months. She was leaving for college in September, to her neat little one-bedroom apartment just steps from Juilliard. Why she couldn't just stay on-campus, he had _no _idea; when he had dared ask her, she had stared, horrified, and informed him that under no uncertain terms was she sharing a room the size of a shed with a complete stranger. She had then gone on to lament about how the Juilliard meal plan was most likely not vegan-friendly, and that whatever vegan options they did happen to have would be shit … well, she didn't exactly say _that_, but he stopped listening after a while. Girl was completely spoilt rotten; he knew it, she knew it, everyone knew it.

Not that he was complaining though- he would be living with her went he got to New York, and he was getting a pretty sweet deal if you asked him; Rachel's dads were paying sixty per cent of the monthly rent, what with them being, you know, loaded, and Rachel's college fund was paying twenty and he was paying the remaining twenty. He was gonna be pretty stretched, 'cause, you know, not everyone had a lawyer and a surgeon as parents and a bottomless college fund like Rachel did, but he had been saving his pool-cleaning money for like, a year, and he worked at Burt's garage four nights a week as well as having a small inheritance his Great Aunt Nita had left him a few months back. And he had saved _everything_, 'cause he knew he was gonna need it. He just needed to work a few more months in order to make sure he had enough to keep himself afloat for a few months in case he couldn't get a job right away.

But yeah- being without Rachel for three and a half months was gonna be _tough_. Not that he wasn't a badass, 'cause he was, but he legit couldn't remember Rachel _not_ being his girlfriend. They had a 'summer holiday routine', and he was completely used to it; waking up next to her, climbing out the window and down the tree before her dads were awake, driving home to 'get up' at home then driving back round to Rachel's to eat breakfast with her and her dads. He was pretty sure their parents knew what went on, but it was sort of unspoken, so he wasn't gonna say anything if they weren't. They were joined at the hip- what was he gonna do for three months? She had even become a regular when he and the guys played video games (he had expected her to watch, but she had whined and whined until one day they let her have a go and she kicked all their asses).

Also, his ma seemed pretty stoked about how depressed he was over Rachel leaving- yeah, she was that heartless. "Aww, my baby's in love!" she'd trilled when he reluctantly confided in her after days of interrogation. "I knew you two'd end up together ever since you painted her hair on the first day of nursery!"

So, yeah, now his ma was 'subtly' planning their wedding- if you called sending Rachel wedding magazines in the mail and asking Rabbi Greenberg to notify her when there was a cancellation subtle. He had to give it to her; she had held back reasonably well in the beginning, probably making sure that Rachel wasn't just another fling – then six months had passed, then a year, and before he knew it, she had turned full on Bridezilla.

"… honestly, Noah, why didn't you tell me there was this much stuff in the 'take' box? Why didn't you stop putting things in? Now there's no room left, and I haven't even _started _on summer clothes! Honestly …" Rachel's indignant voice pulled him back from his musings. Even when she was pissed at him (like right now) she was still so, so beautiful. She didn't even have to try; her hair was unwashed and scraped back, she wasn't wearing a scrap of makeup and she was wearing leggings with a hole in the back of the thigh (and hell if he was gonna be the one to tell her about it) and the brand new Juilliard sweater she had got for the upcoming semester. Her shrill voice faded away as he stared at her, thinking about her leaving, internally freaking the fuck out.

_I'll sing it one last time for you,_

_Then we really have to go._

_You've been the only thing that's right_

_In all I've done._

He grabbed her and kissed her without really thinking about it. He knew he was probably making her even more pissed at him, because they had loads of shit to do before she moved on Sunday and it was already four o'clock on Thursday. But he just wanted to capture this, her, him, together, like normal, before she had to go and leave.

He knew she was having an internal struggle about whether to just sink into him or to protest that they had stuff to do, so he encircled her waist with his hands in that way that made her feel delicate and safe and softened the kiss, feeling her hand run over his cheek. He pulled away and rested his forehead against hers, marvelling at the length of her eyelashes as she gazed up at him.

"You know I love you, right?" he said, wrapping his arms around her tightly. If he closed his eyes an leant his head on hers, he could just ignore the boxes and to-do lists and bubble wrapping that surrounded them and focus on her, the feel of her ponytail threading through his fingers and her soft breath on the hollow of his throat.

_And I can barely look at you,_

_But every single time I do,_

_I know we'll make it anywhere_

_Away from here._

"I know. I love you too," she replied, pulling away and looking up at him knowingly. "Look," she said carefully, "I know you're finding this hard Noah. And so am I. I'm sorry we're arguing all the time, we're just tense and stressed, that's all. You just have to focus on the positive; you'll be with me in New York just after Hanukah -"

"But what if you don't want me there?" said Puck, still clinging to her. He knew he sounded completely pathetic, but he knew Rachel wouldn't judge him and anyways, he was fucking petrified about this. "What if – what if, you find someone better, like, some clean-cut theatre guy who's not gonna complain about singing Disney with you or can play the violin or some shit -"

She smiled at him slowly, rubbing his arms comfortingly. "Says the guy who just so happens to be the most talented pianist I know," she smirked, teasing him.

"That's supposed to be our little secret, babe," Puck said, flicking her nose playfully.

"It still is," she laughed. "But seriously, Noah. I'm not going to arrive in New York and forget about you, and I'm not going to meet some 'theatre guy' to sing duets with. I love _you_, I want _you _there with me. Look, I know we're young and I have no idea what's going to happen in the future, but right now, you are the centre of my life and nothing is going to change that any time soon. I love you more than anything."

Puck could see the truth and promise in her eyes. He always thought people who said stupid shit about eyes being the windows to the soul were idiots, but he could literally lose himself in Rachel's; right now he could see the tiny specks of gold that only he got close enough to notice. He grinned at her and kissed her again lightly, nipping her bottom lip between his gently.

_Light up, light up,_

_As if you have a choice._

_Even if you cannot here my voice_

_I'll be right beside you, dear._

"So," said Rachel loudly, "no more of this insecurity, okay? You are my one and only!"

Puck laughed helplessly at her, because honestly, she came out with some downright stupid shit sometimes.

"Onto the summer clothes," she sang, dancing across to her dresser and pulling out the top draw, plonking it unceremoniously on the floor. She started pulling garments out and holding them out in front of her, putting most of them in the 'take' box.

"Babe," said Puck, "you do realise that the 'trash' box is empty?"

Rachel gave him a stern look, continuing to add to her 'take' box. Deciding that he wasn't about to start another argument, he bent down and rifled through Rachel's draw, pulling out a pair of denim shorts which he was sure could be worn as panties.

"Rachel, like hell are you taking these to New York with you. And that's final," he said, throwing them into the 'trash' box. What, he trusted his girl, but he didn't want random idiots drooling over her while she skipped obliviously through Central Park or whatever.

Reaching into the box and taking them back out, as he'd expected, Puck tuned out her lecturing and just stared at her again. He seemed to be doing that rather a lot lately- but she was hypnotising to him. When they were in a crowded place, he could hear her voice above all the others, her face glowed brighter than anyone else's, and she was all he could see wherever he went. And yeah, maybe they didn't know what was gonna happen in the future, but he sure as hell knew what was going on right now; he had the most beautiful, insane girlfriend in the world, he loved her more than life itself, and they were going to make their life in New York. Together.

_Louder, louder._

_And we'll run for our lives._

_I can hardly speak, I understand_

_Why you can't raise your voice to say…_

A/N: I don't normally like stories where Puck and Rachel are together in high school; I don't think that they would last forever from high school, and I don't like to think of them breaking up, because it makes me sad, haha. Rachel's too career driven and Puck's too much of a womaniser at that point, I think. I normally like them to get together in college or just after, or something like that, because then there's normally a happy ending. But when I listened to the song I couldn't get this idea out of my head, so I wrote it, and I hope everyone enjoyed it. Thanks for reading, please review!


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